Sabotage
by Muriel Candytuft
Summary: The new dictator of Veldin declares unprovoked war on Marcadia. Ratchet is fighting in the Marcadian army, but when a resistance group on Veldin calls for help, he finds that loyalty can get complicated. DISCONTINUED; OUTDATED CANON.
1. Minor Details

1Sabotage

A/N: Well, golly gee. It's my first, full-length, non-parody _Ratchet and Clank_ work!

This story is dedicated to my best friend. She's always been there for me during rough times, and she's nuts about Ratchet and Clank!

Also dedicated to Hirad Coldheart, my favourite R&C writer on the site.

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Chapter One: Minor Details

Ratchet's heart almost stopped when he saw the Starship Phoenix. Green flames flickered on her hull, her port side was crushed, and the bridge was almost ripped away. He slowed his craft almost to a stop. "Oh, my God."

"What?" Clank looked up from his book, and his metal jaw dropped.

Ratchet stomped on the accelerator, repeating, "Oh, my God. Oh, my God." He felt his stomach churning as he docked his craft within the ruined ship.

Clank glanced at the scorched walls of the docking station. "Someone must have attacked the ship while we were gone."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Ratchet snapped, tumbling out of his craft. He crashed into a heap on the floor, and lay there for a moment.

"Well, look what the 'Noids dragged in. About time you showed up, Lieutenant."

Relief surged through Ratchet when he heard the calm female voice. Sasha. He pushed himself off the floor and saluted. "Admiral." He glanced up at her face, thankful that she was alive.

"Report to Commander Laxon for repair and maintenance, Lieutenant." Admiral Sasha commanded. She twirled on her heel and began to stride away.

"Wait," Ratchet said a bit unprofessionally. When Sasha turned and faced him again, he went back into salute. "Admiral."

"Speak freely."

_Yeah, right_, Ratchet thought. He hadn't spoken freely with her since they tacked "Admiral" onto her name. "What happened here?"

Sasha hesitated, blue eyes darting to the side. Ratchet knew that look, and his anxiety doubled. A few tense moments passed before Sasha replied, "We were attacked."

_That's all?! Good God, Qwark could even figure _that _out!_

"By who, ma'am?" Ratchet persisted.

"Minor detail. Report to Commander Laxon for repair and maintenance."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sasha marched out of the docking station.

Ratchet took a few slow steps forward, and then stopped. "_Minor detail_?!"

"Perhaps she is simply distracted," Clank said.

"Maybe, but..._minor detail_!" Ratchet shook his head. "It's not a minor detail if someone attacks you for no reason. Something's wrong." He walked resolutely towards the blast doors that opened to the rest of the ship.

Clank didn't follow. "That's not the way to the Repair and Maintenance department."

"We're not going there," Ratchet said.

"But–" Clank ran to catch up with the lombax. "Where are we going, then?"

"Sasha's office."

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"Are you sure about this?" Clank asked.

"Sure. Sasha keeps a log of everything that happens. Piece of cake." Ratchet connected his Hacker to Sasha's workstation.

Clank glanced quickly around Sasha's office, at the potted plants and the soft carpet. "That isn't what I mean." He jumped up and sat down on Sasha's pink desk. "If we are caught–"

"We won't get caught," Ratchet assured him. He pressed a few buttons on the Hacker, and it beeped impatiently. "Great. We're in."

"Sasha may have good reason not to tell you," Clank said.

Ratchet squinted at Clank as he sat down in front of Sasha's workstation. "The only reason she won't tell me is because she's an admiral now," he said. "I guess she thinks it's unprofessional to 'speak freely' to her inferiors."

"Inferiors? Ratchet, you're her best friend..."

Ratchet's fingers paused on the keyboard. He sighed. "Not anymore."

After a few minutes, Ratchet found Sasha's log. "Boom." He clicked on the log's icon, and a window appeared on the screen, reading: "Enter password."

"Oh, crap," Ratchet said. "Clank, will you get the password for me?"

Clank hesitated. "I'm still not sure–"

"Do it! I want to know who Sasha's up against."

With a shrug, Clank turned towards the workstation. His eyes glowed blue for a moment, and he said, "The password–" He stopped, glanced at Ratchet and chuckled.

"Come on, what the crap is it?" Ratchet said.

"The password is 'lombaxluvr'."

"Oh, man." Ratchet quickly turned back to the screen.

"All lowercase. No spaces. 'Lover' is spelled L-U-V-R." Clank chuckled again.

Ratchet ignored the chuckle, punched the keyboard buttons. He scrolled through the log until he found the newest entry.

_17 September, 5015._

_At seven hundred hours, the Phoenix was attacked by Veldinian troops. She took heavy damage on her port side..._

Ratchet felt his stomach drop. He stopped reading; backtracked...

_Phoenix was attacked by Veldinian troops._

"Ratchet, you are shaking. What did you read?"

Clank's voice sounded to Ratchet as though it were swirling, drowning, distorted by water. He stared at the screen, its hideous, bright green text blurring. A moment later, he was staring at the metal ceiling. On his back in plushy carpet, in a cold sweat, barely able to breathe.

"Are you awake?" Clank droned at him.

"What?"

"You're in Sasha's office, Ratchet. You read her log and then passed out."

Passed out? He never passed out. What the heck had he read that would–

He remembered.

"It's Veldin," Ratchet said. At Clank's silence, he repeated, "It's Veldin, _my Veldin, my own people_." He barely heard his voice raising in terror.

"I–I can't believe it," Clank said at last.

Ratchet sat up, dizzy. "_Go read the flipping screen_," he shouted.

"Calm yourself."

Ratchet laid back down, not calmed at all. At last he said, "How long was I out?"

"Nearly an hour. We are lucky nobody has walked in yet." Clank read the workstation's screen, and looked down at Ratchet. "Are you all right?"

"Do I look all right?"

The robot and the lombax jumped, suddenly alert, as they heard a voice outside the door. "Please inform the President that Congress has unanimously–"

Clank quickly dropped under the desk.

Ratchet sat up.

"Hide," Clank hissed, barely audible.

"No," Ratchet said. He stood up, still shaking a bit, and faced the door.

"Why not?"

The doors parted, and Sasha entered the office with an armful of papers and a worried face. Without even a glance in Ratchet's direction, she turned to the file cabinet beside the door.

"Sasha," Ratchet said.

The cezar dropped most of her papers with a yelp, and whirled about. She saw Ratchet, and her nostrils flared. "Ratch–Lieutenant." Sasha leaned against the file cabinets and cleared her throat. "This is a restricted area–"

"Why didn't you tell me it was Veldin?" Ratchet interrupted, unmoving.

Sasha glanced around the office, took in her powered-on workstation, the Hacker. "Minor–"

"_No, it's not a minor detail_!" Ratchet shouted. "If my own people are attacking you–attacking _me_–then why can't you at least have the freaking guts to tell me?"

After a moment, Sasha mumbled, "I don't know."

Ratchet shook his head, smacked the desk. "I mean, just because you're admiral and I'm not doesn't mean that I'm not entitled–"

Now Sasha yelled, "_It's not like that, okay_? It's not like I chose to become admiral! But my dad won't get off–" She stopped, and abruptly turned away from Ratchet. When she turned around, her eyes glittered with tears. "I didn't tell you because I didn't know what to do."

Ratchet and Sasha stared at each other until Clank rolled out from under the desk. "Was it Chancellor Zillbran?"

"Yes," Sasha replied. "I think he's actually shooting at galactic domination this time. Since Marcadia controls most of the galaxy's natural resources..."

"I'd like to get at him myself," Ratchet snarled. "Idiot. Veldin isn't even his own planet. He's a Nazi is what he is."

"What are you going to do?" Sasha asked.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes. "Fight with you. Free Veldin."

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Ta-dah! A little trivia: The name "Zillbran" is inspired by "Branzillo", the name of the dictator in "A Swiftly Tilting Planet" by Madeline L'Engle. Good book, that; go read it. But first...review!


	2. Call For Help

1Chapter 2: Call For Help

A/N: Oh, it's chapter two; yay! Hope y'all enjoy.

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_One month later..._

"And that," Ratchet said, holding his splitter rifle up before the gaggle of soldiers in front of him, "is how you attach a bayonet. Don't forget–the most important thing is speed. Hurry, unless you want to supply the enemy with extra armour and one more body to clean up. Any questions?"

A derisive voice echoed through the meeting room: "Yeah; if you can just shoot the critters, why are you piddling with the bayonets in the first place?"

Snickers from the soldiers greeted this. Ratchet sighed, laid his gun on the podium at his left, and said, "Whichever clown just said that, front and centre!" Why was it that whenever he gave lessons, someone said something snotty?

A few moments later, an clumsy-looking cazar appeared. Ratchet glared at him. "Name, rank and planet of origin."

"Michael James Malone; Private, First Class and Computer Specialist; from planet Marcadia."

Ratchet rolled his eyes. Not this guy again. "I do have a title, you know," he reminded the soldier. "Try again."

"Michael James Malone; Private, First Class and Computer Specialist; from planet Marcadia, Lieutenant."

"And don't forget to salute," Ratchet said.

Malone smirked. "Why should I salute to someone I tower a good three feet over?"

Ratchet's mouth almost dropped open. Malone was worse than usual today. "Because, despite my height, I have the power to assign you push-ups if you don't."

Malone offered Ratchet a half-baked salute, and went at ease.

"Would you like to go to that blackboard back there, and write fifty times, 'I will not mouth off to my superiors,' or can we take care of this the easy way?"

"Can I pelt you first?" Malone asked.

Now Ratchet's mouth did drop open, as the other soldiers snickered again. When he got his composure back, Ratchet narrowed his eyes at Malone. "Private, you better hope you brought an extra toothbrush, because you're going to be scraping mud off boots with yours," he snapped.

"Fun," Malone said.

Ratchet felt his stomach boiling, but he managed to keep his voice calm. "Drop and give me fifty, and then report to Captain Helga for two day kitchen patrol." At Malone's snarl, he added, "And I hope you do have fun, Private."

Malone stood there.

"Did you hear me, Private?" Ratchet said.

Malone dropped to his hands and knees, and gave Ratchet the fifty push-ups, and then he marched out of the meeting room without a word.

Ratchet saw the other soldiers gawking at him. "Dismissed." As the soldiers filed out, he leaned wearily against the podium and sighed.

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"Admiral, you have a call from the GP."

Sasha looked up from her paperwork and rolled her eyes. Again? "Put in on the speaker phone, Corporal."

"Yes, ma'am." The robotic trooper pressed a button on the phone. A moment later, an enthusiastic, "Top of the morning, honey!" crackled through the office.

"Hi, Dad. How are you?" Sasha replied, fighting to keep her voice polite. How many more times was he going to call this week?

"Well, I'm doing just fine, but it'd be nice to know how my favourite daughter is doing now that she's declared war on some God-forsaken planet with a dictator that probably foams at the mouth."

"I'm your only daughter, and I am doing fine."

The President's voice smiled. "That's good. Just remember, sweet pea, when you're in a war, kick tail and ask questions later. Have no mercy and you'll be just fine."

"Have no mercy," Sasha repeated tiredly.

"Atta girl," the President congratulated. "Make us proud."

Sasha reached for the "end call" button. "I will."

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Through a mist of dreams, Ratchet heard a voice calling, "Hello? Hello?...Is anybody there? Anybody?...Please respond...Please respond..."

He sat halfway up, listened. The voice had fallen silent. His cabin was completely dark; he saw nobody. Just as he began to lay back down, he again heard: "Hello? Anybody there?"

Now Ratchet slid out of bed, clumsily pulled on a pair of pants. He shivered, and then put a sweater on. Grabbing a flashlight, he crept out of his sleeping quarters. "Um, hello?" he echoed, bouncing the flashlight's beam about the cabin.

"Over here," the voice said. Ratchet turned towards the voice–jumped back, gulping down a scream.

A flickering blue figure stood on the coffee table, casting soft blue pools of light on the surrounding walls. A video transmission. Of a lombax.

"Oh, my God," Ratchet said.

The video lombax squinted at him, and then gasped. "Ratchet? Is that you?"

"It's me, Sprocket," Ratchet finally stammered.

"Oh, man, look how much you've grown! Dang! Guess I can't call you baby brother anymore." The video lombax smiled, but his eyes still darted about nervously. "So, where are you?"

"Aboard the _Phoenix_."

Sprocket whistled. "What are you doing there?"

"Military. I'm a lieutenant."

"Oh yeah? Moving up in the world. Nice."

"Sprocket, where are you?"

"I'm in jail."

Ratchet stepped back. "What for?"

Sprocket looked over his shoulder, and then said, "I'm with an underground liberation movement. We call ourselves the Freebies. We want to stuff Zillbran into his own paper shredder. Unfortunately, Zillbran found that out." He turned back to Ratchet. "We're going to be deported to Andwing tomorrow morning."

"Andwing? That's at the edge of the galaxy."

"Exactly. That way nobody can find out that they're going to kill us in the camp there."

Ratchet stepped back even further. "You're lying."

"I'm not," Sprocket answered.

Ratchet sat down on the sofa, holding his dizzy head in his hands. "What about Odette?"

"Joined up with Zillbran's secret police. You wouldn't know she was our sister, the way she treated me."

"What? Did she–"

"No, she didn't arrest us. But that's not the point." Sprocket leaned in closer, as far as the transmission would allow. "There are children here, Ratchet, _children_. The adults, we have to watch them torture the children every day, and we can't do anything about it. And when we get to Andwing, we can only watch them torture the children to death, and then turn about and kill us. We're the only resistance again Zillbran. We need help. We've got to get out of here."

Ratchet sighed against the sting of tears in his eyes. "I'll think of something. Maybe I can get a transport vessel over there–"

"Dude, there's like five hundred of us. You'd never find a ship that big. And we're leaving tomorrow. How would you get there on time?"

"So I'll come to Andwing."

Sprocket scrunched his eyebrows together. "It's heavily guarded."

"Stealth is my middle name," Ratchet assured him.

Sprocket grinned.

"But listen, man–no matter how this turns out, I'm proud of you...The Freebies, huh? You always were quite the social activist."

"I guess I get it from Dad." With a quick sigh, Sprocket picked up a small remote. "I better go now. And, dude, I'm proud of you, too." He pressed a button on the remote and disappeared, soaking the cabin in darkness.

Ratchet sat quietly in the dark for a few minutes, tapping his flashlight against his knee. Sprocket was right–a ship big enough to hold five hundred people would be hard to come by, and even harder to sneak past guards.

"So," he whispered. "A giant ship with a cloaking device..."

An idea bubbled up in his mind, and he snapped his flashlight back on and stumbled towards the sleeping quarters. "Clank!" he yelled, shaking the robot's bunk.

"Lucia...oh, Lucia..." Clank mumbled.

Ratchet smacked Clank on the head with his flashlight.

"Wha–" Clank abruptly sat up.

"I need the number for Slim Cognito's Ship Shack," Ratchet said.


End file.
